


You're Just What I Needed

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: you want a piece of my heart (you better start from the start) [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Banter, Fluff, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, Long-Distance Friendship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Making Out, Phone Calls & Telephones, Podfic Available, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-27 19:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13254807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: In which Ryan and Shane first meet (and make out) at a party on the final day of the semester, officially fall for each other over the course of a summer spent two thousand miles apart, and then make out some more, all while having spirited debates about ghosts, cryptids, and whether or not Medieval Times is awesome.(Spoiler alert: they agree to disagree on all of the above.)





	1. adventures in stairwells (and other college tales)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [veronicabunch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronicabunch/gifts).



> I haven't written RPF since August 2011, and I told myself I was done with it forever... and then this happened. so, obligatory disclaimer: this was written for fun, I don't know either of the boys, and this is a work of fiction. 
> 
> other notes: Shane & Ryan are meant to be the same age in this, this technically includes some underage drinking (since it takes place between first and second year of college; damn American drinking age), and the title is from [Just What I Needed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z5-rdr0qhWk) by The Cars. 
> 
> dedicated to the wonderful Ronnie. <3

Ryan is fairly certain that the chaos unfolding before him is a fire hazard for more than one reason. 

The fifteenth floor of the dorm has been totally taken over by students grateful that exams have finally drawn to a close. When Ryan initially stepped out of the elevator half an hour ago, the halls had already been absolutely _packed_ from wall to wall. Some of the doors dotted along the length of the hallway had been closed, but most had been open, and each of those open rooms was also packed with people. Noises that could only be from one kind of activity had been drifting from the communal bathrooms that he’d passed, and music was blasting from half a dozen different sources, twisting and tangling together to create a discordant wall of noise that people were still somehow managing to dance to (if jumping up and down could be called dancing). 

At any other time, the mere _thought_ of so many people being packed into such a space would be enough to make waves of anxiety roll through Ryan’s body but, thankfully, him and TJ went through a rather heavy round of pre-drinking in their room down on the eighth floor before they came up and, as a result, Ryan doesn’t feel much beyond _giddy_ ; giddy that he managed to make it through a brutal year without dropping out and/or losing his mind, giddy that everyone else is so elated, giddy about life itself.

The fact that he’s managed to score a spot in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, sandwiched between the fridge (which is somehow _still_ filled to the brim with alcohol) and a gigantic punch bowl containing a cloudy red, delicious concoction, just makes things even better. 

He has no idea where TJ is; he’d disappeared mere steps out of the elevator, was dragged away into the crowd by someone he knew. Considering how he’d been talking at their pre-game, rambling on about some beautiful girl in one of his history classes that was supposed to be at the party, Ryan suspects he’s either a) getting laid or b) in the process of getting laid, in which case, good for him. 

So long as they don’t fuck in Ryan’s bed, he’s totally supportive of whatever TJ wants to do. The guy’s been just about the best roommate he could have asked for. 

As the minutes tick by, the party becomes even more raucous, and Ryan continues to drink steadily, alternating between a cup full of punch and a sweating beer, depending on his mood at the given moment. The air is quickly growing hazy from joints that are being passed around. For a moment, Ryan thinks about venturing out into the crowd to see if he can get a pull off one, but that would require leaving the island of alcohol that he’s become beached upon, and that just _doesn’t_ sound ideal.

So he remains put, occasionally waves at someone he recognizes, and steadily becomes more and more drunk. 

He’s thinking about maybe taking a short nap when someone emerges from the crowd and bumps into his side. 

“Are you the guardian of the punch?” 

Ryan glances away from the corner of the room (there are two people speaking very loudly into each other’s faces, and he’s not quite sure if they plan on fighting or making out). His eyes land on someone’s chest, and he has to look up, up, up in order to look at the person’s face. 

It’s a guy that he doesn’t recognize. Whoever he is, he’s _really_ fucking tall, and there’s a thatch of dark brown hair flopping onto his forehead, looking very much like it was cut by someone who didn’t exactly know what they were doing.

“Am I _what_?” Ryan asks. The guy grins and waves one hand at the punch bowl, which is about half-empty now, dotted by limp lemon slices.

“Guardian of the punch,” the guy repeats, sliding around to Ryan’s other side so that he’s standing in front of the bowl. “Like, is there a password I need to say to get some?” 

Ryan laughs as he reaches up and fishes a new red solo cup from the stack on top of the fridge. 

“Maybe. Give it a shot.” 

Sagging against the counter, the guy’s face goes almost laughably serous, and he taps a finger to his chin as he gazes down into the depths of the bowl. He hems and haws for a few moments, and by the time he finally snaps his fingers like he’s had an epiphany, Ryan’s chest hurts from holding back laughter. 

“Is the password ‘can I have some goddamn punch’?” 

Ryan’s laughter spills from his chest, and he wheezes as he tosses the guy a cup. 

“I suppose you’ve earned it.” 

“Damn right.” Bypassing the ladle resting against one side of the bowl, the guy simply dips the entire cup inside. Punch drips down the side of the cup and onto his button-up as he raises it to his mouth. One sip in, he splutters, sending more punch flying through the air. 

“What the hell is _in_ that, punch guardian?” he asks, glancing from the punch bowl to Ryan and back again. “Is that poisoned?” 

“How dare you insult the punch,” Ryan answers, wheezing again as the guy continues to look absolutely flabbergasted. “It’s delicious.” 

“Fuck that.” Abandoning his cup on the counter, he reaches around Ryan with an impossibly lanky arm, hooks open the fridge and grabs a beer from the top shelf. “Here we go. Gotta wash out the poison.” 

Ryan rolls his eyes, polishes off his own cup of punch, and snags the guy’s abandoned cup. He expects the guy to disappear back into the crowd, which would definitely be a shame, because not only is he the first person Ryan’s really talked to since TJ was swallowed up by the crowd, but he’s kind of, maybe, a little bit, cute. 

In a lanky, overly tall way, of course. 

But, once he’s popped the cap off the beer with a bottle opener left discarded on the cluttered counter, the guy just goes back to standing in front of the bowl, although he seems to be closer to Ryan this time. 

Maybe their knees were touching before. Ryan isn’t exactly sure. 

“So, punch guardian, what’s your actual name, and what brings you here?” he asks, waving one arm at the kitchenette. Ryan follows the movements of the guy’s arm with his eyes, and is pleased to note that the people in the corner of the room have decided to make out instead of fight. 

“Ryan,” he answers, taking a sip of the punch. It _is_ a little strong, and probably more sugary than strictly necessary, but he still maintains that it’s no less delicious than the beer he still needs to finish. “Came with my roommate, who has mysteriously disappeared.” 

“Roommates do that sometimes,” the guy answers solemnly. “Although never when you actually want them to, it seems. I’m Shane. My room’s just downstairs. Figured if I couldn’t sleep through this, I might as well partake.” 

“Nice to meet you.” When they shake hands, Ryan is not surprised to discover that Shane’s fingers are sticky from spilled punch. “I live down on eight.” 

“Eighth floor? Do you know Jen? She’s like, yea high,” Shane says, holding his arm at the level of Ryan’s shoulders, “short hair, gigantic nerd.” 

“She’s my neighbor,” Ryan says. Of all the people that live on his floor, Jen might be his second favorite (after TJ, of course); she’s got a great movie collection, a well-stocked drawer of snack food, and she’s always willing to let Ryan crash on her floor when TJ has a sock hanging on the doorknob. “She’s totally awesome.” 

“Right?” Shane exclaims, dark eyes lighting up when he grins. “So a few weeks ago...”

&.

Ryan goes through two more bottles of beer and another cup of punch, and they talk the entire time. Eventually, after running through the typical starter conversations (what programs they’re in, favorite classes, what buildings on campus are the ugliest), they somehow end up on his favorite topic: ghosts.

He could talk about ghosts for hours; about sites he wants to visit and investigate one day, gear he wants to buy, so-called evidence that’s actually bullshit, documented apparitions that are definitely, 100% real. 

However, Shane definitely, 100%, thinks that the existence of ghosts is absolute bullshit. 

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Ryan says. “You don’t even think that there’s a _possibility_ that they exist?”

“Nope,” Shane answers, taking a swig from the third (or maybe it’s the fourth) beer he’s drank since they started talking. “Aliens are probably real, although they’re definitely boring little slugs and not bipedal creatures with big heads. Bigfoot is definitely real. But ghosts are bullshit.” 

“I can’t believe this.” Throwing his arms in the air, Ryan continues, “You seriously think that fucking _Bigfoot_ is real, and ghosts aren’t?” 

“Hey, don’t make fun of the Foot,” Shane says, pointing a finger at Ryan in what is probably supposed to be a threatening gesture, but the giant grin plastered across his face somewhat disarms it. 

“I’m not!” Ryan yells. “I think he’s real! But ghosts-”

“No evidence,” Shane interrupts. “None. At all. Nothing definitive. Don’t you dare say anything about fucking spirit boxes either.” 

That’s _exactly_ what Ryan was going to bring up next.

It feels like his head might actually explode, and not just because there seems to be music coming from eight different places now, none of it meshing together properly. 

“You know what?” he says, taking one last sip from his beer and dropping it to the counter. “Apparently, the eighteenth floor of this place is haunted by somebody that got drunk and fell out their window. I’m gonna go up there right now and catch their ghost _on camera_ , and then I’m gonna rub it in your fucking face.” 

“Obviously I need to come with you,” Shane says, polishing his beer off and dropping it into the sink, which is already crowded with bottles and crumpled up cups. “You might cheat otherwise.” 

“How would I cheat at catching a ghost?” Ryan wheezes, stepping away from the counter and starting the tedious process of winding his way through the crowd. His legs are wobblier than he expects, and when he stumbles, he reaches out to steady himself on the nearest solid object, which turns out to be Shane's chest. 

“I don’t know! I’m sure you’d find a way,” Shane replies, throwing his hands into the air and nearly hitting the ceiling in the process. When he lowers them back down, his left arm drops heavily around Ryan’s shoulders, which makes Ryan feel a little less guilty about the fact his hand is still twisted into the front of Shane’s shirt. 

“I can’t believe you,” he mutters, letting go of Shane’s shirt and winding it around his waist instead. 

For support, of course. 

He definitely doesn’t have an ulterior motive. 

“Believe it, baby,” Shane says, winking theatrically and pulling Ryan closer. “This is all me.” 

Ryan wheezes again. 

&.

They end up making it no further than the stairwell landing between the sixteenth and seventeenth floors. 

“Fuck,” Ryan says, sagging against the cold concrete wall just beside the stairs leading up to the seventeenth floor. The railing, which extends slightly beyond the stairs, is hard against his back. “Do your legs feel funny?” 

“No.” Shane comes to stand in front of him, one hand resting on the railing beside Ryan’s hip. “It’s okay if you’re too scared to face the super scary, _totally_ real ghost. I understand.” 

“I’m not scared!” Ryan retorts, smacking at Shane’s ribs. Shane raises an eyebrow at him. “I’m not, you dick! It’s just... walking. It’s hard.” 

“Uh-huh. Sure it is.” As he says it, Shane sways slightly and drops his other hand to the part of the railing jutting out from behind Ryan’s other side. He’s very, very close to Ryan, and Ryan’s fingers, which are still resting on Shane’s side, itch with the urge to push Shane’s messy hair away from his forehead. 

The thought of not succumbing to the urge doesn’t even occur to him. 

“You’re really fucking tall,” he hums, craning up and pushing Shane’s hair away. It flops back onto his forehead almost immediately, but Ryan just keeps going, runs his hand over the back of Shane’s head until it’s resting on the nape of his neck. 

“Sure you’re not just short?” Shane answers. Some of the bravado has gone out of his voice, and his eyes are averted, looking down at Ryan’s mouth. 

Ryan grins and tightens his fingers on the back of Shane’s neck, tugging him down. 

“Shut up,” he mumbles before he presses their lips together. Almost immediately, Shane gasps into his mouth, and his hands move away from the railing to curl tightly around Ryan’s hips instead. Somehow, his fingers end up under the hem of Ryan’s t-shirt, and the light feeling of them tracing around his waist and tapping over his hipbones makes him sink his teeth lightly into Shane’s bottom lip. 

“Fuck,” Shane gasps into Ryan’s mouth, tongue dragging against Ryan’s bottom lip. 

“Was that too hard?” Ryan asks, curling his fingers tighter into the front of Shane’s button-up, which is still sticky from the punch he spilled on it earlier. Shane just laughs and shakes his head as he presses Ryan back against the wall, kissing him fervently. 

For approximately two seconds, Ryan starts wondering how TJ’s night is going.

But then Shane pulls away from his mouth and starts trailing hard kisses down over his cheek and jaw to his throat, and it becomes all Ryan can do to stay upright, let alone think about his roommate. 

Eventually, when the combination of his swaying legs and the railing digging into his lower back becomes too annoying, he simply hops up onto the railing. It’s not exactly wide to sit on, not really, but it does make it easier for him to reach Shane’s mouth without craning onto his toes, and when Shane runs his his hands from Ryan’s waist to the underside of his thighs and splays his fingers there, _grips_ him like he’s trying to hold him up, Ryan’s mind kind of white outs. 

He’s just at the point where he thinks that they should maybe move things to one of their rooms when a very loud beeping sound starts emanating from the back pocket of Shane’s jeans. 

“Goddamn it,” Shane mutters, pulling away with one last kiss to Ryan’s neck. Ryan tries his best not to groan at the lost contact, but doesn’t entirely succeed. 

“Is it past your bedtime or something?” he teases, knocking his knee against Shane’s hip as Shane pulls his phone out of his pocket. 

“Very funny,” Shane answers, poking Ryan’s thigh in retaliation as he silences the incessant beeping. “No, I still need to pack. I’m heading home for the summer tomorrow.” 

“Where’s home?” Ryan asks, sliding off the railing onto legs that are, thankfully, a little less wobbly. As far as he can remember, they didn’t discuss their hometowns earlier. 

“Illinois,” Shane answers and, just like that, Ryan’s stomach drops straight to the floor. It’s not that he was banking on this becoming a serious thing, but he’s had fun talking to Shane (even if he doesn’t believe in ghosts, like a moron), and he’s had even more fun making out with him.

“Illinois. Wow,” he says, and it sounds so unenthused coming from his mouth that he mentally hits himself. “That’s quite the trip.” 

“Yep. Have to be out of here at seven to catch my flight.” Shane slides his phone back into his pocket and rubs at the back of his neck. His hair is a disheveled mess, and there’s a faint hickey at the base of his throat, a hickey that Ryan put there, and for some reason, it’s that little detail that makes him blurt out his next words. 

“Can I get your number?” The sentence falls out of his mouth in a jumbled mess, and he’s not even sure if Shane understood him. “I mean, I still need to convince you that ghosts are real.”

Shane snorts, but his mouth curls into a smile as he pulls his phone back out of his pocket. 

“Here.” He drops it into Ryan’s palm. “Add yours. I can’t actually remember what mine is right now.”

“You’re drunk,” Ryan says absently as he brings up the new contact screen. 

“If anyone’s drunk, it’s you, because you drank _way_ more of the punch than I did. You’re a terrible punch guardian.” 

Ryan wheezes and flips Shane off as he punches his number in with his thumb. After a moment of consideration, instead of inputting his name, he enters two ghost emojis, with a raised middle finger in between. After he presses save, he passes the phone back over, and Shane glances down at the screen and laughs. 

“Wow, Ryan, _real_ mature. And to think I was going to offer to walk you back to your dorm room like a gentleman. Unless you wanted to go back to the party, I mean.”

Ryan’s stomach swoops a little. 

“I’m think I’m done with the party,” he says. “Guess I’ll just have to walk myself home.” 

“Guess so,” Shane agrees, throwing his arm around Ryan’s shoulders and steering him towards the stairs. “Although I’m sure I could be persuaded to change my mind. Somehow.” 

After a moment of thought, Ryan pauses on the steps, leans up, and presses his mouth hard to the hickey at the base of Shane’s throat.

“That’s the best apology you’re getting,” he says, dropping back to his flat feet. “Take it or leave it.”

Shane’s cheeks are flushed, and even though Ryan has known him for all of a few hours, he is inordinately pleased with himself. 

“You win this time,” he says, squeezing Ryan’s shoulder. “But that’s only going to work once.” 

“Uh-huh,” Ryan says, poking Shane in the cheek. “Whatever you say.”

They take the elevator from the sixteenth floor to the eighth. Faint music is echoing down the stairwells, and Ryan can hear someone watching television in the common room, but there are no sex noises drifting from the bathrooms, which is a marked improvement from the fifteenth floor.

The place _does_ smell like stale alcohol, but it’s been that way since the second week of first semester. Truth be told, the smell is almost comforting now. 

“Here we are,” Ryan says, stopping in front of his door. There’s no sock hanging from the knob but, just in case, he knocks loudly. When TJ doesn’t emerge after a few seconds, he slides out from underneath Shane’s arm and turns to face him, back to the door. They’d chattered incessantly the whole way down, but now, Ryan isn’t exactly sure what to say. _I had a nice night_ sounds too formal, almost like they were on a date, while _see you around_ sounds way too casual. 

In the end, he goes with, “I hope you get home okay. Tomorrow, I mean.” 

Shane grins again and drops one hand to Ryan’s cheek. 

“Thanks, man. Hope you aren’t too hungover tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine,” Ryan shrugs, even though, based on the way his head is already starting to pound, he is probably not going to be fine, at all. “You better actually text me, you dick.” 

Shane mock-gasps, drops his hand from Ryan’s cheek (Ryan immediately misses its warmth) and yanks his phone from his pocket. He types something rapidly, and moments later, Ryan’s phone vibrates in his pocket, but Shane stops him by lightly grabbing his wrist before he can pull it out. 

“Read it in a minute. If you read it now, we’re going to debate until sunrise and I’ll never get any packing done.” 

“Mark me down as intrigued,” Ryan says. Shane is standing very close to him again, and it would be so damn _easy_ to lean up and kiss him again. Instead, even though it pains him in so many different ways to say it, Ryan continues, “If we start making out again, you might not pack either.” 

“Fair,” Shane concedes. He leans down and presses his mouth to the corner of Ryan’s lips, but he steps backwards before Ryan can pull him closer. “Goodnight, Ryan.” 

“Night.” With one last smile, Shane turns and heads back towards the elevators, swaying slightly on his feet. Ryan waits until he’s out of sight before he lets himself into his room, cheeks aching with the force of the smile burgeoning on his face. 

The room is dark, and TJ’s bed is empty, still just as messy as it was when they left for the party. Ryan tosses his phone onto his bed, changes into the first pair of sweatpants he finds on the floor, and tromps down the hallway to brush his teeth and take his contacts out. When he makes it back to his room, he flicks the light off and collapses onto his bed, face first in the pillow. His headache is only getting worse, and he suspects that he might actually die if he doesn’t sleep soon, but before he forgets, he grabs his phone and looks at the message Shane sent him. 

**_Unknown number: thunderdome match with mothman vs. bigfoot. who wins? discuss._**

The answer seems obvious to Ryan, but before he can start planning out his arguments, he falls asleep with his phone clutched in his hand. 

&. 

When he wakes up, the inside of his mouth tastes like a putrid dumpster, there’s sun pouring through the thin curtains, and his head feels like a grenade has just gone off it in.

Slowly, he manages to roll onto his back and sit up. TJ is sitting across the room on his bed, watching something on his laptop and rapidly spooning cereal into his mouth, but after a moment, he glances up and pulls one earbud out. 

“How you doing buddy?”

“I think my head is going to explode. What time did you get back?” 

“Just after two. You were out like a light. Good night though?” 

Even through his pounding headache, Ryan can vividly remember Shane and the stairwell and the kiss he’d pressed to Ryan’s mouth before he left. Before he can stop himself, he grins, and TJ sits up even straighter and yanks his other earbud out. 

“Wait a second. Did you actually hook up with someone? I need the deets, Bergara. Don’t hold out on me.” 

“I promise I will tell you everything if you go find me some ibuprofen,” Ryan answers, slowly sliding down the wall and pulling a pillow over his head. Across the room, TJ’s spoon clatters against his bowl, and Ryan hears his feet hit the ground as he hops off his bed. 

“I’ll be back in five minutes.” Before Ryan can tell him that he’s joking, the door opens and closes, and he sags back against the mattress. The thought of getting up for any reason is not one he relishes, so he rummages through the sheets until he finds his phone and brings it under the pillow, holding it mere inches from his face. It’s almost dead, and he has a few notifications lined up at the top of the screen, but the first thing he sees is Shane’s message, sitting there under the **_Unknown number_** header. Before he answers it, he adds the number to his contacts and, after a few moments of thought, inputs Shane’s name as _**bigfoot groupie**_. Once it’s saved, he returns to the message and starts typing rapidly, hoping to finish it off before his phone dies. 

_ mothman would obviously win...  _


	2. may, june, july & august

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am honestly overwhelmed by the amazingly lovely comments everyone has left so far! thank you so much, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and the third and final part will be up soon (aka, likely in two days)!

Part of Ryan suspects that, as they get further into summer, they’ll simply drift apart and stop talking. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened to him; there’s half a dozen numbers in his phone that belong to people he met at the beginning of the year that he stopped talking to, not because he didn’t like them, but because their conversations had just trickled off and he hadn’t liked them _enough_ to continue on. 

But that doesn’t happen with Shane. 

They exchange Snapchats a week after the party. Ryan managed to score a summer position with a local video production company, which gives him great experience and a shitty paycheck and far too many long days, and most of the pictures he sends to Shane either consist of him with his head on his desk and a caption about wanting to sleep or die, or they chronicle his attempts to decorate the new apartment him and TJ moved into at the beginning of May. 

More often than not, Shane sends him something incredibly dumb in return, which almost never fails to make Ryan laugh. 

He would have been totally fine just exchanging messages like that, occasionally getting into another fierce debate about which cryptid or supernatural creature would win in a fight (always prefaced by a disclaimer from Shane that such creatures, except Bigfoot, don’t actually exist), but in the last week of May, his phone lights up just before eleven one night with a call from Shane. 

“Did I wake you up?” he asks. Ryan can hear some kind of ruckus in the background, overlapping conversations and thudding music. 

“It isn’t _that_ late here,” Ryan answers, pausing the movie he was watching on his laptop.

“Ryan, I sent you a text yesterday at eight o’clock your time and you didn’t answer until this morning because you fell asleep on the couch.” 

“Shut up,” Ryan retorts through a horribly timed yawn. 

“Told you,” Shane says smugly. “Hold on, I need to put you on speaker. We’re at a stalemate here, and I need you to decide for us. If the playing field was leveled, like they could both breathe underwater or walk on two legs, who would win: a bear or a shark?” 

The answer is _laughably_ obvious to Ryan, and he doesn’t think twice before he answers. 

“A bear. A bear could fuck up any living creature on Earth at any time.” 

“What? No!” Shane exclaims, and in the background, in the seconds before the sound quality changes as Shane takes him off speaker, Ryan hears someone yell _get fucked Shane!_ “No! Ryan, damn it, it’s obviously a shark!” 

“It’s not!” Ryan sinks back further into the couch and laughs in disbelief. “Seriously, why are you always wrong?” 

“ _I’m_ always wrong?” Shane splutters. “Bergara, I had faith in you. You’ve wounded me.”

“However will your wounded pride recover?” Ryan deadpans. 

“I can think of a way or two, but sadly, you are not in Illinois, which means I will just have to be wounded for the foreseeable future.” 

There’s nothing particularly sexy about the way Shane says it, but the innuendo is _definitely_ present, and Ryan thinks about his next words very carefully.

“We should talk like this more often,” he eventually says. “It’s a lot easier to tell you exactly why you’re wrong when I don’t have to type it all out.” 

“You’re not wrong about that,” Shane answers. “But _you_ are wrong about bears. Seriously, think about a great white shark for a second...” 

They end up talking for another hour, and Ryan only draws the conversation to a close because it becomes impossible for him to keep his eyes open. Just after he says goodnight, as he’s about to hang up, Shane clears his throat. 

“Are you gonna be home tomorrow night?” 

“Far as I know,” Ryan answers. “Why?” 

“Well, we have a debate to finish. I’ll call you tomorrow. Get some sleep, old man.” 

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up,” Ryan laughs, hanging up. 

Shane _does_ call the next night, but it’s only after their conversation ends that Ryan remembers they were supposed to be finishing their debate. 

&.

During the second week of June, while they’re just beginning a Back to the Future marathon, TJ clears his throat and asks, “So, are you dating that guy you made out with?” 

“Huh?” Ryan mutters, glancing up from his phone. He’s only been half-paying attention to the movie, even though it’s his favorite; mainly, he’s been arguing with Shane through text about whether or not there’s such a thing as underwater Area 51.

(It’s not a theory he even remotely believes in, and he plans on telling Shane exactly that, in a bit. It’s just so much fun to get him riled up.)

“That guy,” TJ says, pointing at Ryan’s phone. “Are you two dating or what?” 

It’s a question that should have a straightforward answer. They’ve certainly never said anything about dating, never extended an offer, but they talk, in some capacity or another, every single day, and Ryan hasn’t so much as even _thought_ about going on a date with anyone else since May, hasn’t even opened the various dating apps on his phone. Shane hasn’t said anything either, about there possibly being someone else in his life. Not that that’s a definitive; it’s possible that the weird thing they have going on, this in-between thing, would make it too weird for Shane to tell Ryan if he _was_ going on a date. 

But Shane _flirts_ with him almost constantly, and while it’s possible that’s just a part of his personality, how he interacts with everybody, Ryan doesn’t think most bros say things like, “Damn Bergara, you’re cute when you’re pissed off,” when they’re video chatting or send each other pictures of stairwells with the caption _saw this today and thought of you._

At the very least, Ryan doesn’t send stuff like that to TJ. 

And, when it all comes down to it, even though he’s only really interacted with the guy face-to-face for a couple of hours, Ryan _would_ like to date Shane. 

But, despite the flirting and the constant talking, the simple fact is that neither of them have brought that potentiality up.

So, a little belatedly, Ryan answers, “We’re just friends.” 

“Uh-huh,” TJ says, rolling his eyes. “Let’s see how long that lasts.” 

“Fuck off,” Ryan responds cheerfully, flipping him off before he turns his attention back to his phone. In the space of his conversation with TJ, Shane has sent him another message. 

_**bigfoot groupie: if you actually believe in this shit, i’m never talking to you again, no matter how great of a kisser you are** _

Ryan’s cheeks light on fire. 

“You’re totally already dating.” 

This time, Ryan tosses a pillow at TJ’s face.

&.

Later in the month, when Ryan checks Shane’s Snapchat story on his lunch break, he’s greeted with no less than eight pictures of Shane at what appears to be Medieval Times, and thoroughly enjoying himself, if the goofy grin on his face in half of them is any sign. He has a few more minutes to kill before he has to get back to work, so he fires off a quick text. 

_ aren’t you a little old to be at medieval times? _

He doesn’t expect to receive a response until the end of the day, but he’s barely put his phone back down on his desk when it vibrates. 

**_bigfoot groupie: a) wasn’t my idea, my brother’s gf has never been and b) fuck you medieval times is awesome. you get to eat chicken with your bare hands_ **

_ you’re disgusting.  _

**_bigfoot groupie: you like it._ **

Ryan is very, very glad that they aren’t having this conversation face to face, because his face suddenly flushes with burning heat. 

_ whatever. buy me something cool while you’re there.  _

He means it as a joke and adds a tongue-out emoji for emphasis, which is why Shane’s next response, which comes half an hour later, totally throws him off guard. 

**_bigfoot groupie: done. don’t say I don’t do anything nice for you._ **

Ryan is fairly certain that his head is going to explode and, for once, it’s not because Shane is being a belligerent idiot. 

&. 

Halfway through July, Ryan gets a call from Shane while he’s driving home from work. 

“What kind of cryptid thunderdome situation have you thought up now?” Ryan answers, putting the phone on speaker and propping it on the dashboard. It’s actually a great time for Shane to be calling; he’s stuck in traffic, and even though this is a near daily occurrence, it never fails to piss him off. 

“Well, now that you mention it, have you ever thought about the Jersey Devil versus a chupacabra?” Before Ryan can answer, Shane continues, “Think about that for later, I’m actually at work and can’t talk long. But guess who officially has an apartment for September 1st?” 

“Gonna go out on a limb here and say you?” Ryan responds, trying to sound casual even though his heartbeat has abruptly sped up. He always knew, in the back of his mind, that Shane was going to be returning to town eventually, but it hits him now that it’s going to be sooner rather than later. In only a month and a half, he’ll actually be able to _see_ him again. 

Before his mind can go too far down that particular rabbit hole, he reels himself back in. After all, a month and a half is still a fairly long period of time; there’s still a chance that they might just drift apart between now and then. 

(Sure, the chance may be slim, seeing as Ryan can’t remember the last time he went a single day without hearing from Shane, but a chance is still a chance, and he needs to consider all possibilities.) 

“Damn right, baby,” Shane answers, and Ryan can hear the damn wink in his voice. “It’s a two bedroom fifteen minutes from campus. Jen signed the lease this morning.” 

“Congratulations, man. Does this mean I need to get you a housewarming present now?” 

“Ryan, your presence would be a present all on its own.” Shane’s voice is practically oozing with sappiness, and Ryan rolls his eyes. 

“Just for that, I’m not getting you anything. Not even beer.” 

“Fine. Then I’m keeping what I bought you from Medieval Times.” 

In mock-shock, Ryan gasps, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I _would_ , actually, if it would teach you some respect.”

“You’re going to have try a whole lot harder than that to teach me some respect.” Ryan doesn’t _mean_ on any conscious level to pitch his voice so low, doesn’t mean for it to sound so suggestive, but that’s how it leaves his mouth, and when Shane goes quiet for a few moments, he has to resist the urge to bash his head against the steering wheel. 

Before he can apologize, Shane clears his throat, and when he speaks, his voice is rougher than Ryan has ever heard it. 

“If I had some more time, I’d ask you to elaborate on that,” he says. “But I gotta get back to work. Talk to you soon, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Ryan answers, swallowing over the lump in his throat. “Bye.” 

Once he’s hung up, he groans and drops his chin to the top of the steering wheel. 

He’s still stuck in traffic, and now he’s got a hard-on to deal with. 

Shane Madej is a damn _menace_. 

&.

By the first week of August, some of Ryan’s instructors have already started posting syllabuses for their classes, along with lists of the required textbooks and materials, most of which he manages to buy off the internet from other students. He continues to talk to Shane every day, and TJ continues to bug him about whether or not they’re dating. 

His teasing steps up in earnest after one particular night, when they get a little too drunk while playing video games. After TJ mentions something about his newest girlfriend (and yells triumphantly when he wins the latest round), Ryan groans, sinks back into the couch, and digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. 

“Man, Shane said _one sentence_ a few weeks ago, and it was like, immediate boner, right in the middle of a traffic jam. What the fuck, right?” When he drops his hands into his lap and glances over, TJ is just staring at him, beer raised halfway to his mouth, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. 

“So you’re still ‘just friends?’” he asks, finger quotes and all. Ryan groans again and picks his controller up. 

“Can we just pretend that I didn’t say anything?” he asks, choosing a new character for the next round. 

“Fuck no!” TJ exclaims, patting Ryan once on the knee. “I swear, if you don’t fucking ask him out soon, I’ll do it for you.” 

“Whatever, dude. Can you get me another beer?” 

“Sure, loverboy.” 

By the time he grabs the nearest pillow, TJ has already dashed out of the room, so he drops it back to the couch and groans again. 

He is well and truly _fucked_.

&.

Four days before Shane is due to move into his new place, Ryan is woken up at one o’clock in the morning by his phone ringing. 

He debates not answering it for a few moments, but when he squints his eyes and sees that it’s Shane, he automatically thumbs the _accept call_ button; at the very least, if it isn’t urgent, he can always tell Shane to fuck off until tomorrow. 

“Dude, why are you awake?” he yawns, flopping back against his pillow. 

“It was my going away party tonight, remember?” Shane answers, voice slightly but distinctly slurred. “I was just going to leave you a message. Sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s fine.” Ryan rubs at his eyes. “Everything alright?” 

“Yeah! S’good. Tonight was good. Really good. But I’m excited to come back. To California, I mean.” 

“You’re that excited to start school again?” Ryan laughs. “I didn’t peg you to be that much of a nerd.” 

“ _You’re_ the nerd,” Shane retorts. Compared to his usual insults, it’s pretty damn unimaginative, which means that he must be either very drunk or very tired. Possibly both. “Not for school. I’m excited to see you.” 

Ryan’s heart stutters.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Been looking forward to it for a long time. You’re cool, man, even if you believe in ghosts. And you’re _such_ a fucking good kisser.” 

Ryan’s whole body seems to suddenly grow warm, and while he doesn’t plan on letting this go too far, he has a feeling that might not be going back to sleep immediately after hanging up. 

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, he says, “We could kiss some more, when you’re back here. If you want to, I mean.” Shane makes a sound that’s almost like a broken-off groan, and Ryan has to stop himself from sliding his hand into his sweatpants. 

“Fuck yeah. I’m taking you up on that. But you should go back to sleep. It’s past your bedtime.”

“I think it’s past _your_ bedtime,” Ryan says. “Text me tomorrow if you’re not too busy dying.” 

“I’m not going to be hungover,” Shane says, sounding so proud and ridiculous that Ryan knows he is, as a matter of fact, going to be hungover. “Night, Ry.” 

It’s not the first time he’s used the nickname, but it never fails to make Ryan’s chest ache. 

Once he’s dropped his phone back onto his nightstand, he stops resisting and slides his hand under the waistband of his sweats and boxers. 

When he wakes up the next morning, he already has three texts from Shane. 

**_bigfoot groupie: fuck am i hungover. my brains are leaking out of my ears_ **

**_bigfoot groupie: but if your offer from last night still stands, I’m down_ **

**_bigfoot groupie: the kissing, I mean_ **

Ryan texts him back immediately. 

_ the offer definitely still stands  _

By the time he returns from brushing his teeth, Shane has responded. 

**_bigfoot groupie: consider it accepted then_ **

Ryan can feel himself grinning when he stumbles out into the kitchen, knows that he probably looks like a moron, but he can’t help it. There’s only a few days until Shane is back until town, and even if they still haven’t discussed anything official, there’s _definitely_ some mutual interest there that he is damn well going to explore. 

TJ is sitting at the table eating cereal and thumbing through his phone, and he glances up briefly before immediately doing a double-take, eyes widening. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think that you got laid last night.”

“I didn’t leave the house last night, so that’s not really possible,” Ryan mutters, opening the fridge and ducking to look inside so that he can take a moment to compose himself and wipe the grin off his face. 

“Fair point. Next best thing then: you and Shane made it official.” 

That isn’t _quite_ what happened, so Ryan doesn’t feel guilty when he answers with, “No.” 

“Damn it Ryan, you can’t hold out on me like this,” TJ whines when Ryan closes the fridge. “You know we have a policy of honesty in this apartment.” 

“I _am_ being honest,” Ryan replies, grabbing a mug from the cabinet for coffee. “Not my fault that all of your guesses are wrong.” 

“It’s still too early for me to be on my A game. I’ll try again later.” 

“You do that.” Once he’s gathered up his coffee and cereal, Ryan retreats to the living room couch, sets everything down, and looks at Shane’s last message. His grin immediately returns to his face. 

Only a few more days.

He can wait that long.


	3. patience is a) a virtue & b) overrated

The first day of September dawns bright and sunny. Ryan watches the sky bleed from black to blue to orange from his balcony, coffee within reach, laptop resting across his thighs. He’s been up since six o’clock, even though his alarm wasn’t set to go off for another three hours; his eyes simply sprang open of their own accord, and rather than trying to fight for extra sleep, he’d decided to embrace it and try to start planning out his semester. 

He knows that he might not be able to see Shane at all today; he remembers from May just how much of a pain in the ass moving into a new place is, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Shane was too tired or too busy unpacking to hang out. But nevertheless, there’s a pit of excitement resting heavily in his stomach at the mere possibility that he might be able to see him soon, even if soon means tomorrow. 

Behind him, the balcony door slides open and TJ comes out, dressed in his work clothes and carrying a huge mug of coffee. He collapses down into the creaky wicker chair that matches the one Ryan’s sitting in and yawns widely. 

“You’re up early,” he comments. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” Ryan turns back to his computer and brings up his school email account. There’s a few important messages dotted among junk, and he’s just started reading one about the new cafeteria hours when TJ talks again. 

“You know, I think I deserve some recognition for hooking you and Shane up. I _did_ drag you to that party, after all.” 

“I went willingly to the party,” Ryan rebuts. “And you ditched me as soon as we got there!” 

“Exactly! If I hadn’t ditched you, you wouldn’t have met Shane. So it’s totally because of me that you’re like this,” he says, waving a hand in Ryan’s general direction. 

“Would you like a medal?” Ryan responds, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “Because I’m all out.” 

“Dick.” TJ kicks his foot lightly. He falls quiet for a few moments, just long enough for Ryan to finish reading the email about the cafeteria. “You really like him though, don’t you?” 

Ryan doesn’t have to think before he answers.

“Yeah. I really do, man.” When he glances over, TJ is smiling at him, and he leans across the space between them and claps one hand on Ryan’s shoulder. 

“I’m glad, dude. Just remember, if this becomes something serious, the sock on the door rule still applies. I don’t want to barge in on you if I need to borrow some toothpaste.” 

“You could just knock. You know, like a normal person.” 

“Hey, I’m just trying to protect your modesty. But whatever.” Grabbing his mug and raising his hands defensively, TJ gets to his feet. “I gotta get to work. See you later.” 

Ryan waves goodbye and goes back to his laptop, but as the sun moves higher in the sky, it becomes increasingly difficult for him to stay focused. He hasn’t sent Shane a text today, hasn’t wanted to disturb or distract him, but the urge to do so is so strong that his fingers seem to itch with it. 

He forces himself to leave his phone alone for the morning, tells himself that he’ll text Shane around noon if he doesn’t hear from him before then. 

His phone rings at 11:30.

“Guess who’s officially back in town?” 

“How many guesses do I get?” Ryan asks, sagging back against the couch, feeling like a giant weight has tumbled free from his shoulders. “I might need a few.” 

“You can’t see it, but I’m flipping you off.” 

“I’d expect nothing less from you. How’s the unpacking going?” 

“Honestly, we haven’t really started. Most of our furniture is coming from Ikea tomorrow, and I don’t feel like doing anything more right now. Especially since Jen just left to go to her friend’s place, and I’m not unpacking without her damn help.”

“Fair enough,” Ryan laughs. There’s nothing that funny about it, but Shane just has a way of making him laugh at the most benign things. “So how should we celebrate your grand return? With a parade?”

“Fuck no. Parades suck.” 

“They are actually the _worst_ ,” Ryan wheezes; Shane’s opinions on ghosts and cryptids may be bullshit, but at least they have _this_ in common. “Alright, so no parades. Have any other ideas?” 

“I was thinking of grabbing some beer and finally taking you up on your offer. Is it cool if I come over?” 

The ball of excitement in Ryan’s stomach abruptly expands. Even though he’s been thinking about it all morning (all week, really), having the possibility of Shane being in his apartment become a reality is borderline overwhelming, and he immediately starts casting his gaze around the place, noticing just how messy it is. 

“Yeah,” he answers, leaping to his feet and gathering up some of the trash littering the coffee table. “That would be... yeah. Come over anytime, man. I’ll text you the address. You don’t need to grab any beer either, we’ve got a bunch.” 

“You’re too good to me,” Shane says. “See you in an hour?” 

“Yeah, that works. See you then.” He hangs up, dumps the garbage into the trash bin under the kitchen sink, texts Shane the address, and immediately goes back to cleaning up. 

He has to skimp in a few places in order to be ready in time; he washes up the dishes that are piled up in the sink, but the mugs on the counter have to stay dirty for the time being, and he only has enough time to quickly wipe the kitchen table down before he has to hop into the shower. By the time he gets out, runs his fingers through his hair and gets dressed, it’s already been fifty minutes since he hung up with Shane, and he grabs his phone and keys and heads downstairs to the parking lot to wait. 

As he sits down on one of the concrete parking space bumpers, he realizes that his excitement, while still present, has started to morph into nervousness. He doesn’t have any new texts, but there’s a chance that Shane may have decided to back out. There’s a chance that, if and when Shane _does_ come, things are going to be awkward between them, a chance that their... whatever this is, will officially die in its tracks before it can progress any further. 

There’s a seemingly infinite amount of things that could go wrong, but thankfully, before Ryan’s anxiety runs away with him, he spies someone ambling across the parking lot towards him, someone so goddamn lanky and tall that it can only be Shane. 

“You’re shorter than I remember,” Shane says as Ryan gets to his feet. There’s a tiny gift bag blazoned with the Medieval Times logo hanging from the fingers of his right hand, tissue paper spilling from the top. 

“Wow, it’s nice to see you too, asshole,” Ryan laughs. Shane’s hair is still flopping onto his forehead, but it’s more polished around the edges, like someone who actually knew what they were doing managed to get their hands on it. He’s wearing a red flannel with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and while Ryan obviously knew how attractive he was, seeing it through a phone screen was one thing; now that they’re back up close and personal again, it’s a little overwhelming. 

There’s still a hint of awkwardness; Ryan isn’t sure if he should lean in and hug Shane, if that’s a thing they’re doing, but before he can make a decision either way, Shane drapes his arm over Ryan’s shoulders and starts walking towards the apartment building. 

“I was promised beer,” he says pointedly. His fingers are skimming over Ryan’s arm below the sleeve of his tee, and Ryan doesn’t know whether he wants to lean into that contact or into the warmth of Shane’s side where it’s pressed against his. 

“And beer you shall have,” Ryan says, fishing his keys from his pocket. “Is that my present?” 

“No, this is just a Medieval Times bag I decided to carry around for the hell of it,” Shane deadpans. “Yeah, it’s your gift. I carried it all the way from Illinois.” 

“What a gentleman you are.” It takes him three tries to get his damn keys in the lock; his fingers are shaking slightly, and he forces himself to take a deep, steadying breath. 

There’s no reason for him to freak out. He knows Shane is into him, has heard it from his own mouth, but his heartbeat feels too fast, and the places where Shane is touching him feel electrified. He almost thinks about making out with him as soon as they’re inside the front door, just to kill some of his damn anxiety, but he’s not exactly into giving any of his neighbors a peepshow, so he forces himself to keep walking towards the elevator. Shane’s arm remains around his shoulders right up until they get to Ryan’s apartment. 

“And this is home,” Ryan says, carefully toeing out of his sneakers and nudging them off to the side so TJ doesn’t trip over them when he comes back. 

“Your roommate not around?” Shane asks, following Ryan down the hallway, through the living room, and into the kitchen. 

“He has to work today and tomorrow,” Ryan answers, cracking open the fridge and pulling out two beers. He passes one over to Shane, but he just sets it down on the kitchen table beside the gift bag. Ryan leaves his own on the counter and swallows hard. Shane is about a foot away from him and rubbing at the back of his neck, looking almost _sheepish_ , and Ryan’s heart starts to beat in double time. 

“You mind if I kiss you before we get into those?” he asks, waving at the beer and gift bag. “Because I’ve kind of been thinking about it for most of the summer.” 

“Oh my God, me too,” Ryan laughs, and just like that, all the tension leaves the room, and oxygen floods back into his chest. “Like seriously, all the damn time. It’s kind of embarrassing.” 

“Not as embarrassing as believing in ghosts,” Shane says seriously, but his damn eyes are twinkling, and after a second, his mouth cracks into a smile and he steps forward, close enough for Ryan to touch. 

“Swear to fucking God,” Ryan says, wrapping his fingers into Shane’s flannel, “we’re going back to the eighteenth floor of the dorm, and I’m going to prove that ghosts exist.” 

“You sure you want that to be our first official date?” Shane asks, raising an eyebrow and moving even closer, until Ryan’s back is pressed right against the counter. “Ghost hunting?” 

“You have a better idea?” It’s hard for Ryan to think straight, let alone talk, when Shane’s mouth is so close that he can feel his breath, but the thought of going on an actual _date_ with Shane, of truly making this something official, makes him so giddy that he thinks he could float. 

“Dinner and a movie is usually a good place to start,” Shane says. His long-fingered hands land on Ryan’s waist and smooth up his chest, rumpling his shirt along the way, until they’re molded to the sides of his neck. 

“Compromise: dinner, followed by ghost hunting,” Ryan breathes, wondering vaguely if Shane can feel how fast his damn heart is beating through his palms. Shane rolls his eyes and bumps his nose against Ryan’s. 

“You’re lucky you’re you,” Shane mutters. Ryan wheezes softly. 

“Is that seriously the best compliment you can come up with right now?” 

“Yep. Deal with it.” With that, Shane leans in and closes the last few inches between them. His lips are chapped and warm against Ryan’s, and Ryan twists his fingers harder into Shane’s shirt, tries to pull him even closer. After a moment, he parts his lips, and Shane gasps quietly as Ryan’s tongue traces his bottom lip. 

Admittedly, there had been a bit of fear in the back of Ryan’s mind that the reason he thought Shane was such a good kisser was because of how tipsy they’d been when they’d first made out, but it turns out that said fear is completely unfounded. 

Drunk or not, Shane is just a _really_ good kisser. 

Eventually, Ryan’s chest starts to ache, and he pulls away to breathe. Slowly, he opens his eyes, smooths his hands down Shane’s chest to his waist and hooks his fingers into Shane’s belt loops. 

“Still think I’m a ‘fucking good kisser?’” he asks with a grin. Shane groans and drops his hands to Ryan’s hips. 

“You’re really gonna use that against me? Right now?” 

“I could be persuaded to be quiet.” This time, he _definitely_ means for the words to sound suggestive and, thankfully, Shane picks up on what he’s putting down. Smirking slightly, he squeezes Ryan’s hips and pushes slightly, and Ryan takes the hint and hops up onto the counter, carefully not to knock over his beer. Once Ryan is situated, Shane dives back in full force, kisses Ryan hard enough to knock his head back against the cabinets. Ryan gives back as good as he gets; he hooks his heels around Shane’s thighs and digs in, presses his teeth into Shane’s already swollen bottom lip and is rewarded by a soft groan. 

“Goddamn it Ryan,” Shane murmurs as he ducks his head to the curve of Ryan’s neck and starts leaving a trail of messy kisses down to his shoulder. “Can’t believe I had to wait all summer for this.” 

“Patience is a virtue,” Ryan answers, gasping and digging his fingers into Shane’s back when Shane starts sucking a hickey into the base of his neck. 

“Patience is _overrated_.” 

At the moment, Ryan is inclined to agree with him. 

He doesn’t have any concrete plans of going beyond making out, but it’s seemingly impossible to pull himself away from Shane; every time he backs away to breathe, they just end up entangled together again. He’s so damn hard that it hurts, and when the back of Shane’s hand brushes against the front of his way too tight jeans, Ryan jolts forward and buries his gasp into Shane’s chest. 

“Sorry,” Shane murmurs, hand dropping to Ryan’s thigh. “We can stop, if you want. Or just make out some more.” 

Ryan isn’t exactly sure how he wants to answer that question, but before he can put much thought to it, the front door opens. 

“Ry! You home?” 

Shane’s eyes go comically wide and he immediately backpedals, crashing into the kitchen table hard enough to make his beer fall over, although he thankfully rescues it before it hits the floor and shatters. Ryan slides off the counter and runs his fingers through his hair so that he maybe looks semi-presentable but, based on how TJ’s eyes widen the second he steps into the kitchen, it’s all too obvious what they were doing. 

“You must be Shane,” he says, gaze directed towards Shane’s neck, which is marked by a series of red, splotchy bruises. Shane’s face turns a rather fetching shade of pink. Turning to Ryan, TJ adds, “Didn’t we have a discussion about putting a sock on the door this very morning?” 

“On the _bedroom_ door!” Ryan exclaims, kind of hoping that the ground will open up and swallow him whole. “You weren’t supposed to be home for another five hours!” 

“Touche,” TJ says, glancing down at his watch. “Boss was nice enough to let me out early today, and now, I’m going to let myself back out of the apartment. Have fun, you two. Be safe.” Brandishing finger guns, he backs out of the kitchen. The apartment door opens and closes a few seconds later, and Ryan sags back against the counter. 

“I want to die,” he groans. “Please kill me.” 

“No can do,” Shane answers. “I like you too much. Speaking of...” Reaching backwards, he grabs the gift bag and drops it onto the counter. “You should open your present.” 

“I _have_ waited long enough for it,” Ryan comments, hopping back up onto the counter. He reaches in and pushes the tissue paper aside until his fingers find something about the width of his palm. What he pulls out is a multi-tool, engraved with the Medieval Times logo. He carefully folds out the tiny knife set into the side and gently pricks the end of his finger with it. There’s a tiny hint of pain, and he’s pretty sure that if he pressed any harder, he’d draw blood. 

“If you’re serious about this whole ghost hunting idea you have, you need to protect yourself,” Shane says solemnly. When Ryan glances up at him, he manages to keep a straight face for all of ten seconds before he bursts out laughing. 

“Yeah, because I can just _stab_ a fucking ghost. God, you are _such_ a dick,” Ryan says as he turns the tool over in his palm. All things considered, it’s actually a pretty cool gift, definitely a useful one. “But this is actually pretty cool. You know you didn’t _actually_ have to buy me anything.” 

Shane shrugs. “I know. But I wanted to.” He steps back in between Ryan’s legs and drops his big hands to Ryan’s knees. “How do you feel about going on that first date tonight?” 

“Ghost hunting and all?” Shane rolls his eyes and groans, but eventually, he nods, grimacing like it’s the most painful thing he’s ever had to do. 

“I can’t believe I’m fucking saying this. Ghost hunting and all.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” Setting the multi-tool aside for the moment, Ryan returns his hands to Shane’s shirt and tugs him in closer. “Can we make out more first?” 

“Yeah,” Shane murmurs, ducking his head back down. “We can _definitely_ do that.” 

&.

They end up going to one of the campus bars for dinner. While Shane is ordering them both drinks, Ryan pulls his phone from his pocket and scrolls to his contacts. After a moment of serious consideration, he erases the words _**bigfoot groupie**_ and inserts _**shane**_ , followed by a green alien emoji. 

He has a feeling that it’s going to take awhile to get used to, but it’s a change that he’s happy to make. 

&.

When he gets home later that night, he's carrying a twelve-pack of beer, which he drops into TJ's lap while he’s sitting on the couch. 

It’s not a medal but, Ryan thinks as he absently rubs his neck and feels all the hickies Shane put there throb in sequence, it’ll have to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so grateful to everyone for the lovely comments and the overall general response to this! thank you all so much! <3
> 
> in good news, as you may have noticed, this is now part of a series, because I have no self control and have already started writing one sequel and have planned out a second. so stayed tuned for those soon! 
> 
> I can be found on [tumblr!](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] you want a piece of my heart (you better start from the start)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17061365) by [Shmaylor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shmaylor/pseuds/Shmaylor)




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